Mountain Of Secrets

Little Lamb

Find goat's milk and cheese, then meet dad back at the truck. I wasn’t successful in my search and ran out of time, so I decided to just wait at the truck for dad. “Hey Beans, sorry I’m late!” He calls out, a wagon full of lamb legs, ribs and what appears to be a lamb’s head wrapped in paper and plastic dragging behind him, a small paper bag sits in a corner. “I saw there were goats’ milk and cheese by the meat stalls, so I just decided to grab some and for good measures!” He says taking note of my bag full of produce and no goat milk or cheese. “Dad why do you have a lambs head?” He laughs at the twisted face I’m making, “the vendor said It's for good health and gave me half off on it, I couldn’t just say no.” Dad always being the nice guy. “I’m not eating that.” I pretend to gag as I load the bag of produce into the back seat of the truck, the chopped-up lamb makes a hollow thud sound when its remains hit the metal bed of the truck. “I’ve got to go return this cart then we can head back home.” Dad gives me a kiss on the forehead before closing the passenger side door leaving me in silence. On our way back up the mountain, I brought up what happened at the potato stall, “I met Charles, and I think his son Kale?” It was never made clear what the relationship was, but they had seemed close. I looked over to my dad, waiting for a response. “Kale is his nephew,” he clarified before continuing. “But what’d you think of them?” “They seemed to be a happy bunch for only farming potatoes.” I shrugged, me and dad don’t really do the whole boy talk since he made it clear I was not to date until I had graduated from high school and so far, I’ve been able to keep that rule, sure I had a few crushes, but school was always more important to me, especially after mom passed away. She would always help me study for hours, so I would do well on tests, and now I feel like that’s the only way I can feel close to her again. “Well, I hope they left a good impression on you because They are one of many that I invited.” Of f*****g course. “Why do you hate me?” I say sarcastically, he erupts in laughter “Oh come on kid it won’t be that bad you’ll see.” I huff and lean my head on the passenger window watching the trees blur as the go by. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m suddenly awoken by the truck door slamming. I sit up slowly, recognizing the old-style cottage we now call home. The inside is more modern than the outside with hardwood flooring, a gas stove and oven, a microwave and tile in the bathrooms. Each room is decently sized, with my dad’s room being the master bedroom, which looks more like a penthouse. Being a coal miner pays off nowadays, especially out here in the mountains, which is why dad chose West Virginia, with great job opportunities and fewer city folk. The decaying stairs leading to the front door protest under dad's heavy weight, adding to the fact he’s carrying around sixty pounds of lamb meat on his shoulders. I got started on prepping the vegetables while he sectioned the lamb into smaller parts so they would fit properly in the smoker. Mom loved cooking and always wanted us to be part of the process. It was a core memory, dad and I have kept alive throughout the years. I do admit, before her passing, me and dad weren’t very close. Sure, we were a loving family, but dad was always busy looking after his father’s farm and doing odd jobs around the city to help contribute to the bills. But if he wasn’t working, he would be out with his buddies drinking. Mom worked a nine-to-five office job and was the sole bread winner. While she worked, I went to school, then after I would take art lessons with my friend Niaomi in the home room. Mom would pick me up on her way home, and we would get dinner started for dad. She would always make sure he was home on the weekends if that counted for anything. But it all changed after the accident. It was if dad woke up, he stopped drinking and picked up a job working for the cemetery mom was buried at. I think it was his way of feeling close to her. We finish cooking around six the sun already hidden behind the mountain; it seems to get even darker earlier here due to the thick trees covering the mountain like moss on a rock. There's a knock at the door just as I place the first plate down, my hair is tied back in a bun to keep the strands out of my face while I’m cooking and setting the table. A small woman, maybe five-foot-three, appears at the entrance just as Dad swings the door open, a welcoming smile spread across his lips. “Meredith! Welcome in!” She can’t be any younger than forty, wrinkles lining the corner of her eyes and mouth as she greets my father back with a hug. “Hey Jean!” A broad-shouldered man shuffles in after Meredith. He almost had to come in sideways. He’s dressed in a gray turtleneck sweatshirt and black pants, his beard almost touching his chest and is held together in a tidy braid. “Morris! Glad you and the family could make it!” Dad claps the modern-looking Viking on the back. “Honey set the plates down and come say hi,” He beckons me over just as a young girl stepped through, her hair is blonde the length just barely reaching her shoulders, its contrast to her tanned skin, she looks up her golden-brown eyes framed in thick lashes. Wow, she’s gorgeous. Suddenly, I felt shy. My apparel consists of old jeans and a ripped baggy shirt. My mother's apron wrapped tightly around my waist, making my shirt bulge in weird ways. After wiping my hands off, I hold one out for her to shake, “I’m Devin,” “Murtle.” She replies, keeping it short but respectful as she shakes my hand. She sounds like she doesn’t want to be here either. At least we have that in common. Murtle’s navy blue dress sways elegantly with her short stride when she walks to the table following her parents’ actions, draping her coat over the back of her chair and taking a seat in between her mother and father. Dad gives me a reassuring wink, “Why don’t you grab a bowl of fruit for everyone while the rest show up?” I nod in compliance glad my father gave me something to do other than feel out of place in my own home. I’d much rather be curled up in bed with a nice book and a warm cup of lavender tea to help me relax. Dad continues greeting the guests as they flood in, shedding their coats on chairs and hooks. Three families in total showed up to the dinner. The Ammann’s consists of Murtle and her two parents, Meredith and Morris. It’s kind of cute. Their names all started with M. There was a tall woman with light brown hair and fair skin. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but she was dad's age. I was shocked and almost couldn’t process it. Her skin was perfect and youthful besides a couple of beauty marks. Dad introduced her as Shelby Schmid while I was washing strawberries and blueberries. Her son didn’t step foot near me and mostly kept to himself. I was later introduced to him when we all sat down for a prayer. “This is my son Jasper.” Shelby smiled while hugging her son's shoulder. His hair was the same color as hers, but his eyes were a striking baby blue, and he had freckles peppering his skin. “I’m Devin,” I smiled and held my hand out, but he ignored it, continuing to stare off into the depths of the plates I had set out. What is up with these people? “Don’t be rude Jasper”, his mother quietly scolds him. “I didn’t even want to come!” He snaps back in a hushed tone. I turned back towards my dad, pleading with him with my eyes to let me go up to my room. He mouths to me ‘no’, I slump back into my chair and suddenly feel eyes on me. I looked up to find Kale staring at me. Kale Willard and his uncle decided to show up, and they were thoughtful enough to bring a cherry pie Charles picked up from the farmers' market this morning. The second Charles and Kale stepped in, the atmosphere got lighter. Kale sought me out first and wanted to know how I was doing. I ended up keeping things short with him since I still had to finish setting the table. Dad laid the lamb out on a giant silver platter, assembling it to look almost whole minus the front legs, neck and ass end of the poor animal. I’m not sure if he was trying to be funny or trying something new, but he decided to put a peach in the lamb's cooked mouth.